Cozy
by For the 19th Time
Summary: The coffee was only half of it, really. He liked the warmth much more. Russia/America, AU, cuddly!Russia. Rated for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This will be multichapter. Bear with me for a bit—it's been a long time since I've written fic. I don't own. Enjoy.

* * *

Ivan blinked as he stepped out into the half-lit street. It was mid-December, and the usual bleak, gray cloud cover had moved in, casting a bluish sheen on everything. He pulled his half-buttoned trench coat closer around himself and stepped off of the doorstep onto the sidewalk. He heard a seemingly distant goodbye from his workmates and waved halfheartedly, not really hearing them. The snow swirled around him; it settled on his hair and eyelashes and Ivan blinked it away, squinting. He set off at a brisk pace, restless and wanting warmth.

His coworkers always teased him for hating the cold, since he was Russian, but Ivan couldn't help it. One too many nights stuck outside in the dead of winter after someone was gone when they said they wouldn't be and an evening or two spent outside after his father had had too much to drink had really rubbed him the wrong way.

There was only one good thing about winter, as far as Ivan was concerned—matter of fact, it was coming up on the next corner. He hastened along.

Ivan felt a pleasant warmth settle over him when he opened the door to the café. The feeling settled low near his stomach, comforting and fuzzy. He stamped his feet on the shop's soaking floor mat, pulling his hands from deep within his pockets, and tugged his scarf down from his flushed cheeks and chin. He paused a moment to pull off his scarf, inhaling purposefully to catch the distinct smell of coffee and old books the café had. Ivan stepped back a bit from the door and wound his scarf up, then tucked it in his bag.

He smiled softly, naturally, and walked over to the bookshelves. He loved books, though in this case more for the look and smell of them (and for the armchairs that lay hidden behind them) than for the books themselves. He was fairly certain he'd already read all of the books that the café had. He settled down in a plush chair, the same white chair he always sat in, and immediately felt his body relax. He closed his eyes, feeling drowsy suddenly.

He really did love this shop.

Ivan heard footsteps on the carpeting behind him and knew who it was. He was immediately wide awake, and though he didn't open his eyes, his heart began to beat faster, just like it did every day. He felt the usual shy butterflies in the pit of his stomach.

This…was the second reason he loved this shop.

He heard the footsteps stop, predictably, right next to him. He caught a puff of _his_ warm, cinnamon scent. He opened his eyes slowly, sleepily, feigning tiredness, and turned his head slightly to look up at the man next to him.

He would never be able to look at this man enough. There was something about him, something that drew Ivan in inexplicably and had captured him completely. He pushed down a sudden impulse to reach up and run his fingers through the man's unkempt blond hair. The man smiled at him and adjusted the tray underneath his right arm.

"The usual, I take it?" he said, and Ivan could feel his own stress melting off in waves. He struggled to keep his smile a friendly one rather than a fond one.

"Yes, please, thank you," Ivan replied. The man walked away and Ivan sank back into his chair. He allowed his thoughts to run freely now that he was alone.

How long had he been coming here? It had been a year, at least. He'd been grinding his teeth over last year's winter and one of his coworkers had mentioned this place in passing. Since he appreciated coffee and had never been one to object to a good book, he had stopped in. The moment he'd walked through the door, that man had caught his attention. He was all warm, sincere smiles and vibrant blue eyes, and however cliché it was, Ivan could swear he heard the ice frozen over his heart start cracking.

He often wondered what his name was. He often wondered how old he was, too. He seemed young, probably young enough that Ivan wouldn't appeal to him, even though Ivan _was_ only twenty-five. He wished he could ask that man if he was seeing anyone, but he didn't even know if he was gay. God forbid he say something wrong and scare him off; Ivan might well pack up his bags and go home to Russia if that happened, and to hell with American university.

He really, _really_ wanted to know what the man's name was. Why didn't he wear a name tag, Ivan wondered. There was no point in having fantasies if there was no name to be screami—

"Here's your coffee," the man said, setting the cup down on the small table next to Ivan, snapping him out of his thoughts. Ivan smiled (friendly, not fond, he repeated inwardly) and dipped his head obligingly.

"Thank you," he said, picking up the cup. The man straightened and turned, Ivan still wishing he knew what his name was. Well, he thought as he blew on his coffee, beggars can't be choosers. Suddenly, the man hesitated and looked back at Ivan. He seemed to be thinking about something, his eyes darting back and forth. Ivan looked back cautiously. He could hardly breathe.

"You know, I've been wondering," the man said. "For a while, actually: what's your name? I know it's kind of a rude question, but I see you here every day, and it's…odd to not have a name to put to the face."

Ivan gave an amused smile.

"It's no trouble at all; I've been wondering your name, as well," he told the man, taking an experimental sip of his steaming coffee. "I'm Ivan, Ivan Braginski."

"Alfred Jones," Alfred said. He held out his hand. A beat passed before Ivan reached out and took it. He felt an electric jolt that he was certain was only on his part. Alfred had a firm grip, and _god_ but his hand was so soft.

Alfred's brow crinkled a bit and he parted his lips, looking as if he were about to say something. Ivan loved being able to put a name to him.

Suddenly, a call came from the front, snapping at Alfred to get up and get back to work; he could chat on his own time. Ivan decided that he hated the owner of that voice very much.

Alfred gave Ivan an apologetic look. "Sorry. Duty calls. Enjoy your coffee, though."

Ivan smiled understandingly back at him. "Of course. There is always tomorrow, after all, da?"

Alfred blinked. He laughed, a clear, ringing sound that echoed through the café and turned a few startled heads to look at him.

"Yeah," Alfred said, grinning. "Yeah, I guess there is."

He walked away and Ivan leaned back in his chair. He ran a hand through his hair. He slowly processed the last few minutes. He decided he couldn't believe any of it had actually happened—he'd been trying to work up the courage to ask Alfred his name for months, and he'd been beaten to the punch. He sighed and picked up his coffee again.

Oh, well. It was progress. _They_ were making progress.

Ivan chuckled ruefully and reached into his bag for his class work. That would do.

That would do just fine.


	2. Chapter 2

Ivan cursed. There was snow in the eaves of the apartment building and a large drift had formed between the elevator and his apartment. He stayed close to the railing where it was only ankle-deep and began trudging through the snow angrily. He was glad he'd worn his boots with the high cuffs today, or he'd have snow in his shoes. He made it through the drift and stomped to his apartment; neighbors be damned, Ivan didn't care how much noise he was making.

He felt around numbly in his bag for his keys. When he found them, he spent several minutes shivering and trying to put the key in the lock. It kept hitting the side. Clink. Clink. Clink.

Finally, the key went in and he turned it quickly, then turned the handle and yanked on it.

The door didn't open.

Ivan stared at the door for a moment. Toris.

He reached out and turned the key back the other direction. He opened the door and stepped inside.

"Toris," he called out in Russian. "What have I told you about leaving the door unlocked? I know you come from a rural area, but if you keep this up then one of these days we are going to get robbed."

He heard a muffled thump and a squeak (clumsy Lithuanian, he thought to himself) before Toris poked his head out of his bedroom.

"Sorry, Ivan," he said. "I'll try not to forget next time."

Ivan rolled his eyes as Toris retreated back inside his room. Ivan took off his gloves and dropped them on a small table they kept in the entryway, then slipped his coat off and hung it on the coat rack. He sat down heavily on the step just inside the door and pulled off his boots, then tossed them in the corner.

Ivan's back made an unpleasant popping sound as he stood up. He grimaced and put both hands on his lower back. He'd have to get that checked out. Maybe he could go into one of those clinics for a massage, he mused as he walked into the kitchen. He dropped his bag on the counter and opened the medicine cabinet. All this winter had given him a headache.

He took a couple of Tylenol and then went to his bedroom. He'd finished his class work at the café, so there wasn't really much to do. He sat down on his bed and fell back with a sigh.

He had to go in to work at six tomorrow, he realized. Damn florist job. He hadn't expected a part-time as a florist to have such unreasonable hours, but he wasn't about to quit: it paid pretty well, since the female owner thought having a hot guy around the place made more girls come in. It probably did, too, he thought with a smirk.

Ivan rolled over onto his side. Speaking of hot guys…

So. His name was Alfred. It wasn't exactly what Ivan had been expecting, but it suited him, he thought. It was a bit old-fashioned, but then Alfred himself couldn't be blamed for that.

Ivan wondered how old he was. He wondered if he was in college or university, or if he was stuck in a dead-end job as a waiter. If he was, Ivan knew that he could remedy that. He wondered if Alfred had ever been out of the country. Maybe Ivan could take him home to Russia some time. Maybe he could take him to see Moscow, or St. Petersburg, or both.

Ivan sighed again and closed his eyes. He was so tired. Maybe he could just skip dinner and sleep. That sounded nice.

He had just begun to drift off when his cell phone rang. Ivan made a mild sound of protest and reached into his pocket for his phone. He sat up and looked at the caller ID.

Ivan shrieked and dropped his phone onto the bed, then immediately began fumbling to pick it up in the covers.

Why now, why now? It had been such a nice day…

He opened it slowly and brought it up to his ear.

"…Hello?"

"_Hello, brother_."

Ivan shivered at the sound of his sister's voice. "Hello, Natalia. What can I do for you?"

"_Oh, nothing much, brother. I miss you_."

"Ah, yes, of course, Natalia," he said nervously, dodging the comment. Of all the damn times—he'd just been having an impending fantasy about Alfred (whose name he finally knew) and _she _had to call. "How are things at home?"

"_They are fine, but they would be better if you were here, brother_."

"Well, Natalia, you know studying abroad has always been—"

"_You seem distracted, brother. Is it a girl?_"

"No, no!" Ivan squeaked, his voice cracking. Well, it wasn't a _girl_, but…shit! How could she tell? "Of course it isn't! Why would it be?"

"_You cannot pursue any such relations, brother, since we are going to be married_."

"Er, well, Natalia, I—"

"_You should hurry and propose, brother. And come home_."

"I have to finish university, Natalia," Ivan replied unsteadily, curling unconsciously into a defensive position. "I must get my degree."

"_If __you wish to stay in America, then I will come visit you_."

"Th-that's completely unnecessary, Natalia!" Ivan said, panicking. "I-I mean—America, it is not nearly good enough for you; it is not nearly so wonderful as Russia—" Oh man, Ivan was _so_ glad there was an ocean between them. "—I'm sure you would hate it! I will come home during summer break, okay? We will see each other then, _da?_"

"Da_, brother. Summer break, then._"

"Yes, fine, summer break—"

"_I love you, brother_."

"Yes, yes, Natalia. I will talk to you later, okay?"

Ivan snapped the phone closed before she could say anything else and breathed a sigh of relief. How he hated talking to his sister. He turned his phone off and threw it into a drawer in his nightstand for good measure.

Ivan narrowed his eyes and lay down angrily. She was probably going to visit him now, dammit. Maybe he'd send her off to Yekaterinya's house, after explaining the situation to his _other _sister (whom he liked far better, though she tended to be distant). She'd moved to America a long time ago, to get away from the family, and although she hadn't been part of Ivan's life for a long time, he still loved her. He'd never understood why she'd taken such great lengths to disassociate herself from him, but after moving overseas himself, he had come back into contact with her. She was very apologetic, and they were close, though it was still a bit awkward. He figured that was because she felt guilty.

Ivan put a pillow over his head and growled. His headache was coming back.

Stupid siblings.

* * *

Ivan had dark circles under his eyes when he walked into work the next day. Thoughts of Natalia had kept him up all night with fear, and he glanced around nervously as he walked into the shop. He wouldn't put it past Natalia to find out where he worked and wait for him there.

The bell on the shop's door chimed and there was a slight shuffling in the back of the shop. Ready-made bouquets of roses, daisies, and various flowers perfumed the shop on all sides and made the space seem small. Several of the bouquets displayed were Ivan's, he noticed; his were bright and usually featured sunflowers. He smiled.

The shop's owner came walking briskly out from the back. She was wiping her hands on her apron and smiling at him.

"Ivan!" Elizaveta called out, spreading her hands wide. "You're a little late today, hmm?"

"Sorry, Elizaveta," Ivan said, walking towards her. She swept him up in a brief hug. "My sister called last night."

Elizaveta pulled a face and looked at him. "Which one?"

"Natalia."

She hissed and looked at Ivan sympathetically, patting his shoulder. He'd told her a bit about both of his sisters (Natalia mostly to warn her if she ever came by) and she'd taken it upon herself to be a bit of a personal counselor to him. She'd also found out a long time ago that Ivan was gay, which she'd been really excited about, for some reason.

"So, what is she doing now? Still stalking you voraciously?"

"I still seem to be the main focus of her life, yes." Ivan took off his scarf and coat and put them in the back room with his bag.

Elizaveta rolled her eyes. "Clingy bitch."

"That is not even the half of it, as you know."

"Know indeed. Is she still firmly insisting on marriage?"

"She is as persistent as ever, sadly," Ivan muttered as he tied on an apron. "I must warn you: she may come to visit soon. If she does, she might well come here."

Elizaveta went a bit pale. "Oh lord. Should I have the frying pan on hand?"

"That would probably be wise."

"I'll make sure to do that, then," she said, looking over at the door warily, as if Natalia could appear any minute. She then turned to Ivan with a grin on her face, and he knew what was coming.

"So, how are things with Mr. Coffee Boy?" she purred, leaning over by Ivan as he trimmed flowers. "Any progress?"

"Yes, actually," Ivan said with a small smile. He was glad he could talk openly about this with her. "I learned his name."

Elizaveta squealed and hugged his arm. "So, what is it? Who asked? Was it you, or him?"

"His name is Alfred, and he asked me my name first," Ivan said, "Which I find myself a little disappointed at."

"Oh, of course you're disappointed," Elizaveta said, patting his arm. "But this does mean that he's interested in you on some degree, if at least in friendship."

"Yes, it does look that way. I do not want to get my hopes up, though."

"Well, you never know," she said. "It's always the ones you least expect—my ex-husband Roderich, for instance. I'm damn sure that he's going out with that Prussian bastard, what's-his-name, the one that works at the bakery he does financials for; you know? The albino one?"

"Gilbert?" Ivan offered. He looked at Elizaveta with wide eyes. "I did not think that he was Roderich's type."

"I know!" Elizaveta threw up her hands. "But when I went to check my accounts on the shop the other day, they were in his office going at it like a couple of rabbits! I almost stopped them, but…" She got a moony look on her face and her eyes glazed over.

"It was too hot?" Ivan supplied. Elizaveta nodded and snapped her fingers.

"Yes, that's it exactly. I forgot my camera, too, which pisses me off, but hey. What can you do?"

"Indeed," Ivan replied, amused. She put her arm around him and leaned in close.

"But seriously, hey," she said, whispering to him. "When you two start going out, you tell me, yeah? I want pics and video."

"I will be sure to do that," he told her, holding back a grin. She clapped him on the back and turned to head into the greenhouse, announcing that the roses needed trimming and the petunias needed watering. He realized something and looked in her direction.

"Why are you so certain that we will go out at all?" he called after her. She turned and smiled coyly at him.

"I just know," she called back.

Ivan rolled his eyes. She was so eccentric. He went back to his task.

A few minutes later, a soft ding sounded in the shop. Ivan looked up and put down his flowers, then wiped off his hands on his apron. He began to make his way to the front of the shop.

"Hello, how may I—oh, hello, Francis."

"_Bonjour_, Ivan!" Francis said. He strode into the shop and began looking at the bouquets of roses. "It's a bit early in the day for you to be here, _n'est pas__?_ I suppose Elizaveta is working you to the bone, as usual?"

Ivan laughed. "Well, it is not like I do not like flowers. I may be wrong, but there is a French class meeting soon, _da__?_"

Francis waved a hand dismissively. "_Mais non_, not for a couple hours. And what is going on with your Russian group? _Mon dieu__,_ I simply cannot _believe_ that Toris has lasted this long in the United States. Did you hear that he almost got hit by a bus this morning?"

Ivan raised a brow. "_Nyet_, I did not. I will ask him about it later."

"You should, Ivan," Francis said as he pulled a particular bouquet from the selection. "Or he will probably leave this country in a casket. I will have this one."

"Who is it for this time?" Ivan asked as he rang up the bouquet. Francis took out his wallet and waggled his brows, grinning mischievously.

"This is for my lover, this irritable yet wonderful Englishman I have been seeing for…oh, a month now maybe?" He shrugged, then leaned in closer. "_Il est très beau_, Ivan. Well, except for his eyebrows. But I have always had a thing for eyebrows…"

Ivan chuckled and took the bills from Francis's hand as Francis babbled on about his latest relationship. He put the bills in the register and nodded at something Francis had said. The Frenchman could talk your ear off if you gave him the chance.

"But enough about me," Francis finally said. He moved in closer with a Cheshire Cat grin. "What about _you?_"

"What do you mean?" Ivan said. He blinked innocently.

"You know what I mean," Francis said, still grinning. "What is up with your little café-au-lait crush? Any progress?"

"A little," Ivan admitted. "He—"

Francis immediately launched into a string of excited French expletives. It took a few minutes for calm him down enough for Ivan to explain to him that he had only learned Alfred's name, which disappointed Francis a bit ("Ah, _mais il va trop lentement, cet amour_…"), though he was still excited. When Ivan told Francis Alfred's name, the Frenchman's brows shot up into his hairline.

"Alfred?" He paused for a moment, as if thinking, and then suddenly his eyes widened. He grinned and snatched up the bouquet.

"What? What is it?" Ivan asked, blinking. Francis just grinned some more and turned.

"Oh, nothing, nothing. Thank you for the roses; _á_ _la prochaine!_"

Francis breezed out of the flower shop, leaving a very confused Ivan in his wake.

* * *

Translations

N'est pas? – Isn't it?

Mon dieu – My god

Il est très beau – He is very beautiful

Ah, mais il va trop lentement, cet amour… - Ah, but it goes too slowly, this love…

Á la prochaine – Literally, "to the next," a bit like "see you next time" (informal way of saying goodbye)


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Quick thanks to the anonymous viewer by the name of Clair who gave me French advice. I am fluent in no language but English and appreciate the help.

* * *

Ivan jumped when Elizaveta slapped him on the back.

"Hey, broke college kid," she said loudly. "Your shift's over. Go home! I'm not paying you for overtime!"

Ivan looked at his watch and blinked.

"Oh, it seems you are right. I apologize for overstaying my welcome." He hastily began taking off his apron and walked toward the back to grab his things.

"It's not like that and you know it," Elizaveta said, following him. She rolled her eyes. "Sometimes you're just too apologetic, you know that?"

Ivan smiled mischievously. "Well, I find that it never hurts to be polite. I am no gentleman, but…"

Elizaveta laughed. "Yeah, yeah; go on ahead, sweetheart, I'll clean up here." She ushered him out of the back room and towards the door. Ivan hurriedly put on his coat and scarf, jokingly half-protesting. He stumbled onto the front stoop and turned around, remarking on how aggressive and strong Elizaveta was for a woman. She play-punched him on the arm, and then leaned forward conspiratorially into the falling snow.

"Now remember," she whispered, waggling a finger at him. "Pics and video."

"I know, Elizaveta," Ivan said mildly, shaking snow out of his hair. "You remind me every day."

"Never hurts," she replied, retreating back into the doorway. "Say hi to Toris for me, and tell him to watch out for any buses."

Ivan snorted. "You heard that, then?"

"It was Francis," Elizaveta said dryly. "The man lives for gossip and romance. I'm not surprised how quickly word of you-know-who spread after _he_ found out."

Ivan shook his head. Francis had walked in on Elizaveta and him talking in the early throes of his attraction to Alfred a couple of months ago. After a long, dramatic speech about "l'amour," Francis had declared his full support and decided he was very much in favor of furthering this prospective relationship, and that in fact it would be an absolute _crime_ against passion if he didn't. He'd been nothing but supportive, but there _was_ such a thing as _too_ supportive.

"I will see you tomorrow," Ivan said, waving. "I am in desperate need of coffee."

"That's not the only thing you're in desperate need of!" Elizaveta called after him as he walked down the street. She made a pelvic thrusting motion accompanied by an "Unf!" He rolled his eyes at her and smiled a bit to himself.

Ivan ran back to his apartment (he knew Alfred didn't work on Fridays) to check on Toris. The Lithuanian wasn't there, but Ivan made sure to leave him a sarcastic note about the dangers of buses and walking when the pedestrian crossing light was red. He finished his class work and was sitting around, bored. After a while, he realized his phone was still in the drawer of his bedside table. He couldn't really ignore it, and felt a sick dread settle in the pit of his stomach as he got up from the couch.

Ivan opened the drawer and stared down at the phone for a few minutes. He reached in and then drew his hand back out several times before finally picking up the phone. He held it in his palm for a long moment, then flipped it open. He winced as his phone went crazy with his text and voicemail ringtones. When it finally stopped ringing, he had twenty new texts and seventeen new voicemails. He checked their senders, just to be sure. They were all from Natalia. Good lord. He deleted all of them and pocketed his phone.

Ivan sat around bored and eventually decided to just go to the café, because he liked the coffee.

The snow was only about an inch deep, but Ivan cursed it. The street was, for some reason, relatively quiet, and then Ivan remembered that they had blocked the upper part of it off because of an accident involving a bus that had crashed trying to avoid a pedestrian. He snorted. He knew who _that_ idiot had been now.

The wind from the other day had died down, which Ivan was thankful for, as it meant that snow didn't get into his eyes as he walked. He neared the café and reached for the door handle when suddenly a surprised exclamation came from behind him.

"Ivan?"

Ivan whipped around, surprised. Alfred, also obviously surprised, blinked at him from the front stoop of the door to the upper levels of the building. Ivan's throat felt thick and he swallowed. His heart began to thud furiously against his ribcage. There was a long, drawn-out moment where they just stared awkwardly at each other.

"_Privet_," Ivan finally articulated. He reddened and shook his head. Stupid, stupid! "I mean, hello. Alfred, _da?_"

"Yeah," Alfred said, stepping off of the stoop towards Ivan. "Sorry for not sticking around to talk yesterday. Gotta pay the bills, you know?"

"Yes, I do," Ivan said, cracking a smile. "I did not expect to see you here. Do you not usually take Fridays off?"

"Usually, yeah," Alfred said, idly (and definitely _not_ adorably, Ivan reminded himself) shuffling his feet in the snow. "I dunno. Fridays are usually my busy day, but today's mostly free, lord knows why."

"It has been a good day, then?" Ivan asked warmly. He scolded himself for his affectionate tone and immediately backed down, though Alfred either didn't notice or wasn't bothered.

"You'd think so, right?" Alfred made a face. "But it's been hella boring! My roommates are out with each other right now. They invited me, but man did I not want to be the third wheel on _that_ date…"

"Mmm, that _can_ be very awkward." Roommates. An unspoken question buzzed in Ivan's head. Namely: If they are your roommates, does that mean that they are both men? Or is one of your roommates a woman?

Alfred suddenly tensed. "Um. They're…they're gay."

Ivan froze. Did he ask that out loud? His mind shut down for a moment, then suddenly went into overdrive. Of all the thoughts he'd had to blurt out, it had been _that_ kind of thought; that kind of easily misinterpreted thought. Though, he honestly couldn't say he wasn't happy that Alfred had answered—if his two _male _roommates were together, he must at _least_ be accepting of homosexuality. That meant that friendship would be possible, if not a relationship. Was Alfred straight? Most straight men had a sort of complex about that kind of thing, right? Ivan suddenly realized that he'd been quiet for several moments. Alfred's expression had shifted to a defensive one; it was clear he thought the question had been meant insultingly and was preparing to defend his friends.

"Ah. I see," Ivan said awkwardly.

"Why do you care?" Alfred bit out with a bit of a glare. His stance changed to an angry one.

"Ah, no no, please do not take it the wrong way—I am not one of those people," Ivan said hastily, his palms spread in front of him. He cleared his throat and looked away, clasping his hands behind his back. Alfred relaxed a little, but still looked wary.

"You didn't answer my—"

"My curiosity was because I am gay myself," Ivan said quickly. Alfred went quiet.

Oh, fuck.

Fuck, shit, and _damn_.

That had had to be his most socially awkward moment ever. Gee his boots sure were interesting and not Alfred's face. He'd probably screwed up any chance at anything now. He wasn't sure what the statistics were on homosexuality, but he was pretty sure they weren't in his favor. Alfred was more than likely very straight. And going by his expression, Ivan thought when he glanced at him, he was probably right. Alfred was staring at Ivan with an astonished look on his face, his mouth slightly open. Ivan shifted, feeling uncomfortable. Somehow, having Alfred look at him like this was worse than the openly hostile look from before. Ivan felt his skin begin to prickle and coughed lightly into his scarf.

Alfred suddenly smiled brightly. "Well, hell; I guess that means I don't have to awkwardly explain myself when I ask if you'd like to go ice-skating sometime."

Ivan lifted his head up and looked at Alfred for a moment. There was a pause.

Huh. Well, then.

"...Thank you, Alfred. I would like that," Ivan replied warmly, smiling. "I would like that very much."

Alfred's face lit up in a grin. "Here, let me give you my number," he said, taking out his phone. Feeling quite overwhelmed, Ivan quickly took his own phone out of his pocket and entered Alfred's number into his contacts when the American rattled it off, and then told Alfred his own number.

"Great," Alfred said, snapping his phone shut. "I'll text you, yeah?"

"_Da,_" Ivan said, still smiling. Alfred said goodbye and then took off down the street past Ivan, obviously late for something. Ivan watched him go for a few seconds, gears turning in his head, before turning around. He started down the street towards the flower shop, coffee forgotten.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** I apologize for the wait. Have a long chapter. Thank you to all who reviewed chapter three.

* * *

Elizaveta was, of course, thrilled ("Thank god; finally you're one base closer to third!"). Even though the shop was closed, she let him in when he knocked on the shop's door and sat him down in the upper level of the shop (her home) with a cup of hot chocolate. After he related his brief encounter with Alfred to her, she proclaimed that she'd always known it would happen eventually and hugged him several times. She tried to get him to take her camera, insisting that he take it along on the date and snap some photos for her, but he not-so-politely refused—he reminded her gently that she was undoubtedly going to follow them either way and could take her own photos. She laughed and didn't deny it.

"But really, Ivan," Elizaveta said. Her expression abruptly became serious. "I'm happy about this; happy for you. This boy will do you good."

"I know," he replied quietly after a moment, eyes on the floor, hands clenching his cup. He knew what she meant. She wouldn't say it out loud for his sake, but he could sense the hidden sentiment in her words and appreciated that she wasn't being specific.

She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly, a comforting gesture. He lifted his head up to look at her. Elizaveta was looking down at him with a concerned, motherly expression. Every once in a while, she'd look at him this way, and it made him wonder if it was how his real mother would have looked at him if she were alive. A reserved fondness for him glowed in her eyes as she gazed kindly down at him through her lashes. She looked tired, and he suddenly felt tired himself. The reminder of his yet unresolved issue caused it to weigh heavily on his shoulders like a wet quilt, and he sagged forward, moving to put his head in his hands.

Elizaveta shifted and took his cup from him gently. She walked towards the sink.

"Do you want to stay here tonight?" she asked as she turned on the water. She began rinsing his cup and glanced at him. "You look like shit."

Ivan snorted. "That is not surprising. I feel like shit."

"Sorry," she murmured, turning off the water.

"What for?" he asked, hearing her open the dishwasher and put the cup in it.

Elizaveta closed the dishwasher. She straightened and looked at him. He avoided her gaze.

"For bringing it up."

He shook his head. "It is something I need to face. You told me that yourself."

"Don't twist my words around, Ivan," she said, running a hand through her hair. "It's too late for that bullshit. Do you want to stay or not?"

"Yes please," he said, voice cracking. He swallowed thickly, his face clenched.

"Please."

The apartment was quiet. The quiet hum of city life filtered in through the walls, sirens and music and car horns. Elizaveta gave him a long, searching stare. Finally, she turned and walked towards her living room, heels clicking on the tiled floor.

"I'll make up the guest bedroom," she said. She paused in the doorway, hand on the doorframe, and looked back at him. He wouldn't meet her eyes.

She sighed and turned, then vanished into the darkness of the rest of the apartment, leaving Ivan alone.

His hands fisted in his hair. Dark whispers and thoughts hovered on the edge of his consciousness, waiting for an opening, wanting to slip in. He closed his eyes tightly and willed them away, but that had never worked and it didn't work now. His thoughts refused to clear. He could feel them shift slowly, turning—

His phone went off and he jerked in his chair, train of thought broken. He fumbled for his phone, startled and wondering who would be calling him at this hour. He didn't have many contacts. He pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at the screen.

One new text message. He swallowed and hoped it wasn't from Natalia—that was the last thing he needed right now.

He flipped his phone open and was once again startled.

The text was from Alfred. He blinked at his phone, then opened the text.

_Hi ivan, u doing good since i saw you an hour ago lol? _

This gave him pause. He smiled ruefully. Yeah, sure he was. He clicked a few buttons and began typing his reply.

_Hello, Alfred. I am doing fine. Is it alright for you to be texting me so late? _

He was a rather fast texter, so it only took him a few seconds. He sent it and snapped his phone shut.

His phone went off again less than a minute later. Apparently Alfred was also a fast texter.

_Yeah its fine, no class tomorrow_

Ivan's eyebrows shot up. Class? He replied quickly.

_No class? You attend classes currently?_

He waited anxiously for Alfred's reply. His phone rang and he opened it hastily.

_Yeah i go to hetalia u, north of the city, american history major_

Ivan couldn't believe it. That was his university! He told Alfred so in his reply. Alfred's text arrived almost seconds after Ivan had sent his.

_OMG NO WAY ive never seen u on campus!_

_Yes, I have never seen you so I assumed you were not attending. My major is International Relations. _

_Not attending is that a nice way of saying u thought i was stupid lol_

_No, no; not at all! I did not know if you had already graduated or if you were attending another school._

_Its fine ivan, u know i think ure the only person ive seen use semicolons in txts_

_I do not understand; is that strange?_

_LOL_

Ivan stared at his phone, confused. He didn't know how to reply to Alfred's one-word text. He'd heard a word for such texts before. What was it…text killer, maybe?

His phone went off before he could think about it too much.

_Ok my roommate iggy is getting really mad cause im laughing so i have to go_

_That is fine. Goodnight, Alfred. _

_Night ivan_

Ivan closed his phone and sat back in his chair. His head lolled back and he looked at the ceiling with a sigh. Thoughts of Alfred ran through his head rapidly. He could think of nothing else.

He didn't hear Elizaveta come in, but suddenly she was in front of him. He looked at her and smiled. She raised an eyebrow at him, a slow, crafty grin spreading across her face.

"You talked to him, didn't you?" she purred. He stood and began walking to the guest room.

"No, just a little texting."

Elizaveta's excited shriek ("What _kind_ of texting? Ivan!") came just as he closed the door. He kept a few sets of clothes at Elizaveta's house—this kind of thing happened often enough; she kept some clothes at his apartment, too. Ivan was silently grateful for this as he stripped off his shirt and jeans—his coat was in the kitchen with his bag—and pulled on a pair of pajama pants. He brushed his teeth in the attached bathroom and splashed some water on his face. Ivan padded back into the guest bedroom and practically fell onto the bed. He exhaled loudly and crawled under the covers. What a day!

* * *

Arguing voices came hazily through the door. Ivan groaned. He turned over and buried his face in his pillow, trying to go back to sleep.

It was futile. The voices increased in volume until Ivan couldn't stand it anymore. He opened his eyes angrily and threw the covers off. He rolled out of the bed and onto his feet. Who the hell was here at—he glanced at the clock: past midnight, before five—goddammit o' clock in the morning? He trudged over to the door and opened it harshly, rubbing his eyes.

"боже мой, what the hell is going on out here?" he rumbled. It was too early for him to put on his polite, happy face. He glared blearily at the figure standing next to Elizaveta, both of them frozen and silent now that they realized they'd woken him up.

"Who's this?" the man asked Elizaveta. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair exasperatedly.

"This…is Ivan Braginski," she told him, gesturing at him. "You were asking about him; well, here he is."

"Asking about me?" Ivan said. He made a frustrated noise and pushed his bangs out of his eyes. He did not have any patience for this. "Elizaveta, what is going on, it is too early for—"

"I'm Arthur Kirkland," the man said, cutting him off. He straightened and held out his hand. "I'm sorry I woke you."

Ivan gave Arthur a hard look before taking the offered hand. He stepped back after that with a sigh, one hand on his hip and the other in his hair. "Mr. Kirkland, what—?"

"Arthur, please," Arthur said. He paused, eyes running up and down Ivan. A little voice in Ivan's head reminded him he wasn't wearing a shirt, but Ivan didn't care. He waited for Arthur to continue as said man cleared his throat.

"I'm Alfred's roommate," Arthur said. Ivan was awake now. He became visibly more alert, straightening and blinking. "My…well, my—"

"Oh for God's sakes, Arthur; he's gay, you can tell him," Elizaveta interrupted. Arthur reddened.

"Yes, well," he said, beginning again. "My, er, boyfriend, Francis, mentioned you worked here, and since I wanted to learn a bit more about you, I…"

Ivan held up a hand, eyes closed, and Arthur trailed off. Ivan opened his eyes.

"Two things, Arthur," Ivan said. "The first is that you should not take this the wrong way: I am not romantically involved with Elizaveta." Arthur began to interrupt him, but Ivan cut him off. "And do not tell me that you did not think I was—I know you did. The second thing is that I am tired and frankly rather pissed off. If you want to know more about me, please ask Alfred after our relationship has progressed further. Спокойной ночи."

He turned on his heel and walked back into the guest room before Arthur could say anything, closing the door behind him. He collapsed into bed and breathed deeply. He hoped distantly that he hadn't offended Arthur, then fell back to sleep.

* * *

Elizaveta woke him the next day with pancakes, coffee, and a few offhand remarks about "that dick of an Englishman." Ivan ate quickly and took a fast shower. He grabbed his coat and bag, ran down the stairs, and was almost out the door before Elizaveta called out to him.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Class at seven!" he called back, panicking. He pulled the flower shop door open. He was going to be late! Suddenly, Elizaveta's hand was fisted in his coat. She was laughing. He looked wildly back at her.

"Let go, I have to hurry to catch the bus!"

"Ivan!" she said, still laughing. "Did you forget? Winter break starts today."

Oh.

That's right. He was supposed to turn his paper in online, too. He flushed red and stepped back into the shop, muttering about how he'd forgotten. Elizaveta giggled a bit and let go of his coat. He turned to face her and smiled sheepishly.

"Thank you. I would probably have gotten all the way to the campus before I realized it."

She waved a hand at him. "It's nothing. Somebody's got to watch your ass."

A grin curled across her face then. "So, speaking of ass…"

"Thank you for letting me stay the night, Elizaveta," he said hastily. He gave her a brief hug. "I must be going now."

He took off down the street, blushing and leaving Elizaveta laughing behind him.

* * *

Ivan looked at his apartment door. He cautiously checked the door handle.

Locked. Good. Maybe Toris was remembering for once—either that or he still wasn't back. He took out his key and unlocked the door.

He opened the door and stepped into the apartment.

"Toris?" he called. "Are you back?"

He walked into the living room and froze. Yes, Toris was back: but so was Felix, his boyfriend. They were both on the couch, Felix straddling Toris and Toris looking absolutely mortified. Felix was in his boxers, and had obviously been working on getting Toris's pants off. Ivan closed his eyes. After a moment, he opened them and looked at the ceiling.

"I am going to go get a cup of coffee," Ivan told them. "I will be back in an hour and a half."

"Oh my god, Liet, I thought you said he wouldn't be back until later," Ivan heard Felix hiss as he walked out of the room.

"I said I didn't know when he'd be back!" Ivan heard Toris whisper. "I _said _I didn't know!"

Ivan rolled his eyes and closed the door to the apartment behind him. He walked to the elevator and returned to the ground floor of the apartment building. The doorman greeted him and he nodded in reply before heading back out onto the street.

He'd already had coffee at Elizaveta's house, he mused, but another cup wouldn't hurt him.

A bell tinkled as he opened the door to the café. He made his way to his chair and settled in it with a happy sigh. His scarf slipped up over his mouth as he sat down and his breath quickly warmed it. The smooth smell of the café drifted around him. He had slept restlessly after Arthur's visit the night before and felt himself drifting off.

A few minutes later, Ivan woke up. Something smelled like cinnamon. He blinked sleepily. He realized there was someone in the chair across from him. Abruptly, Ivan pushed himself up farther in his chair and pulled his scarf down under his chin. He rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his vision. Amused chuckles came from the figure across from him, and Ivan knew who it was.

"Hello, Alfred," Ivan said with a smile. Alfred half-smiled, half-grinned back at him.

"Morning sunshine," he greeted Ivan. "Long night?"

Ivan nodded. "Your roommate, Arthur, woke me very early in the morning."

Alfred frowned. "Arthur? He said he only went to Elizaveta's place. Sorry about that, by the way—he can't keep out of my business."

Ivan raised his eyebrows and blinked. "He did not tell you? I was there."

"At Elizaveta's?" Alfred said slowly. Ivan nodded, now fully awake. "Uh, why?"

"We are very good friends," he said with a smile. "She and I are very close, like siblings. I…well…"

"Well what?" Alfred asked, obviously curious. Ivan flushed red.

"I wanted to tell her about…well." Ivan gestured vaguely, embarrassed. Alfred laughed.

"Yeah, I told Arthur when I saw him at the bar—that's where I was going last night, by the way."

Ivan nodded. "I had figured that you were late for something, with the way you ran off." He shifted in his chair. "So your roommates are Francis and Arthur, then?"

"Yup," Alfred said with a grin. "I saw it coming with them. They fight all the time, but the chemistry is there, y'know?"

Ivan smiled. "_Da_. I know."

Ivan's cell phone rang. Surprised, he pulled it out of his pocket. It was Yetakerinya. His eyes widened and he made a soft sound of surprise.

"Who is it?" Alfred asked.

"My sister," Ivan said. He opened his phone and brought it to his ear.

"Hello?" he said in Russian.

"_Vanya!_" his sister said on the other line, sounding relieved. "_It's good to hear your voice._"

"Yes, the same to you," he replied, a bit puzzled. "Why have you called?"

"_It is about Natalia,_" his sister admitted nervously. "_She called me to ask about you. Is something going on?_"

The color drained from Ivan's face. Alfred looked alarmed at this. "What…what did she ask about?" he said. Alfred asked him if he was alright, and he nodded.

"_She…_" He could hear her hesitate. "_She wanted to know about your love life._"

"Oh dear god," Ivan whispered. "She knows."

"_Knows what?_"

"I'm…dating someone."

There was a long silence on the end of the line.

"_Oh, Vanya, that's great news! I'm so happy for you!_"

"Yes, sister, great news," he said hurriedly. "But what about Natalia?"

"_Oh, do not worry about her_," his sister replied, sounding more determined than he'd ever heard her. "_I will throw her off the scent. I told her I was going to call you and get back to her, but I will keep this from her, definitely. You… Take care of yourself, okay?_"

"Alright, sister, I will," he murmured, smiling. "And thank you."

"_Oh, it is no trouble Ivan, believe me_," she replied. "Someone _needs to keep that girl reigned in_."

"Either way, thank you again. I will talk to you another time, _da?_"

"_Yes, Ivan. Goodbye_."

"Bye."

Ivan snapped his phone shut. Alfred looked at him expectantly.

"Well? What was that about?"

Ivan smiled. "Nothing. We thought there was a problem with my younger sister—it was my older who called—but it is fine."

As Alfred's expression relaxed, he hoped for both of their sakes that it was. He really hoped it was.

* * *

Translation 

боже мой – My God

Спокойной ночи – Goodnight


	5. Chapter 5

Alfred frowned and rolled over in his chair. "Say it again for me."

"_Ya tebya lyublyu_," Ivan carefully and slowly recited for what must have been the twentieth time. Alfred's dedication for learning how to say 'I love you' in Russian was adorable, yes, but the blonde unfortunately could no more pronounce a foreign language than he could flatten the little curl of hair that swooped up from his hairline. It was an admirable attempt, though.

In the two months since their relationship had become official, Ivan and Alfred had become, as Francis had put it, attached at the hip (he'd also made some rather lewd and mildly offensive remarks in the same sentence, but Ivan refused to acknowledge those). The two went everywhere together, did almost everything together, and Ivan was loving it. It seemed like the romance had been waiting to happen all along, and now that it had finally blossomed, it was as if they had been together for two years rather than two months. It was like fitting together two halves of a puzzle—they just clicked.

The only thing that their relationship was lacking—as Elizaveta constantly reminded him—was physical in nature. Sure, there had been a peck on the cheek here, a chaste kiss there, but nothing really serious. It didn't bother Ivan much, though.

He just really hoped it didn't bother Alfred.

"Yah te…ya ta…" Alfred screwed up his face in frustration. He made an angry noise and threw his notebook at the wall. "I give up. Heroes don't need to know Russian, anyways."

Ivan rolled his eyes. "I thought you were 'determined to learn some Russian' because 'you're just that awesome,' _solnyshko_."

"Hey, hey," Alfred said, pointing at Ivan from where he hung upside down off of the chair's edge. "Don't use my own words against me, okay?" He turned onto his stomach with a sigh. "Why are we studying, anyways? We don't have class; we should be down at the park or window shopping or something."

Suddenly, Alfred seemed to perk up. A cat-like grin crept across his features, and he slid up into a sitting position. "I know what we could do," he said lowly. Ivan swallowed. Alfred's words were dripping with double meaning.

"A-And what would that be?" he said hesitantly.

In a few steps, Alfred crossed from the chair to the couch and slid onto Ivan's lap, pushing his books and papers aside.

"A-Alfred," Ivan said, almost disbelieving. Alfred's hands ghosted over his shoulders, slipping his jacket down and pulling it off. Ivan could feel his face heat, and another heat began much, much lower down.

Ivan's hands came up to rest on Alfred's hipbones, his thumbs perched on the rim of the top of Alfred's jeans. One hand trailed up to Alfred's lower back, fingers slipping just beneath Alfred's t-shirt. Alfred shivered. His hands came back up to grip Ivan's hair.

"Stop teasing," he murmured and pressed their lips together softly. Ivan felt a tremor run through him. He pulled Alfred against him impulsively, wrapping his arms around the smaller man's waist. Alfred was so soft and warm.

Before Alfred, Ivan had had very little experience with kissing. Oh, sure, he'd had a couple of relationships before, but nothing serious. He'd been too young to fully enjoy the experience, and hadn't really ever 'made out' with anyone before, as it was termed in America. So when he'd started dating Alfred, he was a little nervous. They were both grown men, and it was obvious that Alfred, charismatic as he was, would have prior experience. Ivan, on the other hand, was in the dark.

But oh, what a pleasant dark it was, Ivan decided as he tilted his head to the side for better access. Alfred was very good at this, at least by his standards—though he supposed his standards were very low.

They parted for a moment to breathe and then Alfred's mouth was back against his, his kisses now hard and demanding. Ivan reciprocated enthusiastically, and when Alfred kissed him open-mouthed, Ivan didn't hesitate in matching.

Alfred's tongue touched his. Something inside Ivan snapped.

He pushed Alfred down onto the couch and kissed him roughly, their tongues tangling. He wanted more, more. He broke away, Alfred gasping, and began pressing open-mouthed kisses down his the side of throat.

"Fuck," Alfred hissed. "You're so good at this, _shit_—how many times have you _done_ this?"

Ivan nipped Alfred's neck, making him whimper, then answered huskily. "Never. I suppose I am just a natural."

He pressed his teeth against the juncture between Alfred's neck and shoulder and sucked, drawing a gasping moan from the man beneath him (jeez, did Alfred ever make a lot of noise). He pulled away and licked the mark, then moved his mouth back to Alfred's and gave him a searing, heated kiss. As he did, his hand slipped up underneath Alfred's shirt, pulling it up to expose his stomach. He pulled away from Alfred, who made a rather angry, protesting sound.

"Get back up here, Ivan, you stupid—_oh_."

Ivan had pressed a kiss to Alfred's stomach, just above his pantline. He reached up and began to undo Alfred's pants.

Suddenly, the front door opened.

"I'm telling you, Liet, those shoes would have gone perfectly with my top, to hell if they're twelve—oh my god!"

Felix and Toris stood in the doorway, Toris' face bright red. Felix's mouth hung open and he was staring at them incredulously.

Alfred was silent for only a moment before his head dropped down onto the couch arm and a string of expletives exploded from his mouth. Ivan sat up, blushing, and put his head in his hands.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Toris squeaked. Felix just gaped at them some more. "I didn't think you'd be home! I thought Alfred would have dragged you two downtown to do something or something—"

"Well, yeah, I was _gonna,_" Alfred said, obviously irritated, "But obviously that didn't fucking pan out, now, did it?"

"Alfred, leave him be," Ivan muttered from behind his hands, embarassed. Now he knew what Toris and Felix had felt like the day he had walked in on them. "It is not his fault he interrupted."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Alfred snapped, sitting up and crossing his arms, hair disheveled and lips bruised. "Tell it to my dick…"

"Oh, for the love of god," Felix said loudly. He grabbed Toris' hand. "Come on, Liet. I am going to go get those shoes. I, like, deserve them now or something."

The door slammed behind them.

Alfred sat sulking on the end of the couch in silence, his legs crossed. After a while, Ivan brought his hands back down to rest in his lap. He looked at Alfred. He seemed so…put out? Yes, that was the phrase. Even after several minutes, he was still pouting.

Ivan stared mildly at Alfred. When it became clear that Alfred planned to be in this mood for some time, he rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in the air.

"All this over a little foreplay?" he said exasperatedly. Alfred reddened.

"It was really fucking _good_ foreplay," Alfred muttered. "You can't tell me you weren't mad about getting interrupted."

Ivan looked embarrassedly off to the side. "Well, I was," he said. What he said next was so quiet that Alfred half-thought he'd misheard. "But then again, I was not the one who was about to get blown…"

Alfred's head whipped around. He stared at Ivan incredulously.

"Wait, what was that? Did you really just—were you seriously going to—?"

"I am going to get coffee," Ivan said uneasily, standing up. His face felt warm. He fled to the kitchen. Alfred leapt up off the couch and followed after him.

"Wait, wait, Ivan seriously? Ivan! Ivan, come on, tell me! Ivan!"

**A/N**: Oh, my god, guys, I apologize for being gone for so long. I've never had an intention of letting the story go this long without an update, but my time just got away from me. It's mostly school's fault, but that's no excuse and I hope you'll forgive me.

I'm going to start writing regularly again, though the updates will be short. I can't write anything long with the school year.

I'm also busy writing another RusAmer fic that will be called 'My Dear One,' so keep a look out for that!

Translations: 

Ya tebya lyublyu – I love you

Solnyshko – Sunshine, a pet name like honey or sweetie


End file.
